Unrequited
by contraryplanetary
Summary: What if Ginny was there the day Harry went to Hogsmeade with Cho? R&R please! T just in case... some bad language.


Oneshot in Ginny's POV

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I looked at him. He looked at _her_. I was sitting in this bloody tea shop, alone. Well, not completely alone; Michael was off somewhere. I wasn't listening when he said where. I couldn't focus on anything once I realized Harry was in the room.

It's ridiculous, it's pathetic. I waste all of my stupid time thinking about this kid. What's so special about him? Alright, so you might count not dying when hit with a killing curse "special", but still…

I remember the first day I ever met Harry. Why did I have to see him? It was supposed to be a day all about Ron, his first day. I was supposed to be upset that he was leaving. Instead I found myself staring googly-eyed at the most adorable boy I had ever seen. His hair was so messy it looked like he rode a broom to King's Cross. His glasses would have looked foolish on anyone else, but for some reason on him, they were perfect. Don't even get me started on those eyes; I might have to write another bloody _poem _like I did in my first year. A fucking poem, it's embarrassing really. And worst of all, he was _polite._ He had no idea how incredible he was. I fell in love right then and there.

Damn him.

I went home that day and asked Mum to tell me everything she knew about him. I had heard the story countless times before, but after seeing him, I needed to hear more. I went up into my room and saw a picture of me in my Halloween costume. I stole a quill from downstairs and drew him into the picture as best I could. The scar took up most of his head, but it still got the job done.

I went to school the next year. I saw him countless times in the corridors, and the second he looked at me I would trip or spill something. I was hopeless, pathetic. It had been worse when he stayed at my house the summer before. Let's just say I got very well acquainted with the butter dish.

The end of that year he saved my life. I knew I would never love anyone the way I loved him.

The next two years were the same. Sure I didn't trip anymore, and I could actually say a few words to him, but I was nothing to him. And I'm sure he thought he was nothing to me. Hah. The day I almost got to go to the Yule Ball with him was probably the worst I had ever felt up to that point. I had been so happy cause I was actually allowed to go, even though it was Neville. He's a sweet kid, but he's _Neville._ Harry had wanted to go with Cho, and who could honestly blame him. The girl was gorgeous.

Damn her.

Hermione found me in a storage closet bawling my eyes out that day. She knew everything about my feelings for Harry; I didn't even have to tell her, she's just good like that.

She suggested I date other people; it would make it easier to talk to Harry (without a buttered sleeve). So, I went to the Yule Ball with Neville, and had a lot of fun. I still cried myself to sleep that night, but I was determined to listen to Hermione's advice.

Tears are running full force down my face, in this ridiculous tea shop. My face is so streaky I look like a zebra, I'm sure, but right now I don't give a shit.

He's reaching for her hand. Why the hell is she crying? I have to get out of here, I can't look at this. If I see him kiss her, I'm probably going to be sitting in Azkaban tonight for murder. Harry looks confused. He's scratching his head and looking around… at me. Our eyes meet. Shit. I'm staring at him and bawling my eyes out, and he's just trying to go on a date with his girlfriend, who is crying too. Looks like a rough day for Mr. Potter.

"Ginny I got the drinks, finally, that line took… Ginny what's the matter?"

I glanced at Michael and bolted out of the place.

I ran until I sat under a snowy tree. I opened my fist. Inside it was a crumpled picture. I smoothed it out and let my tears polka dot the picture; a picture of a small girl next to a stick figure boy with a scar.

Damn him.

* * *

Aww, Poor Ginny

Hmmm well, Review please!


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